


Watergarden

by The_Queen_In_The_North



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anal Play, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Foreplay, Loss of Virginity, Masturbation, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:13:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25891900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Queen_In_The_North/pseuds/The_Queen_In_The_North
Summary: Sansa Stark goes for a late night dip in the Red Keep's new watergarden and has an unexpected visitor.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 76
Kudos: 441





	1. Chapter 1

Above, the sky was black. Below, the water was warm. Sansa released a moan at how pleasant it felt against her skin as she placed her foot into the pool. The surface of the water reflected the stars that were nested in the jet sky. _It’s almost as beautiful as the northern snows,_ she thought. _Almost._

“Get _all_ the way in, m’lady.”

Sansa looked over at her maid who sat at the edge of the pool, watching her slender, olive-skinned legs dangle playfully into the shallowest end of the water. “I don’t know how to swim...besides, I don’t want to be caught,” Sansa said in a whisper. King Joffrey did not allow her to come to the newly constructed watergarden during the day. Her betrothed never had a reason for refusing to permit her to the pools, he was only cruel and did not want her to enjoy herself. Joffrey would _certainly_ have a tantrum if he learned Sansa had gone for a swim during the night. 

Shae gave her an uplifting smile. “Even the deepest end is shallow enough for you to stand, m’lady. And I told you, Lord Tyrion sympathizes with you and wanted me to bring you here. M’lord told me he would ensure His Grace does not depart his bedchambers tonight so you may enjoy the watergarden just this once.”

Sansa found it rather odd that Lord Tyrion would confide in her own maid, but when she had asked her about it, Shae only shrugged and said, “I believe he fancies me.”

“His Kingsguard--”

“--has been given the night off, m’lady. Well, aside from that fat one who enjoys hitting you. M’lord said he would give him the honor of standing outside His Grace’s bedchamber.”

She giggled at the insult to Ser Boros Blount, the worst of the Joffrey’s Kingsguard. Still, it seemed to her that Lord Tyrion was going to great lengths just so she could have _one_ visit to the watergarden beside the godswood. _Perhaps Tyrion really is the only Lannister who is not a monster._

Sansa looked down at her simple dress, velvet and silk and colored deep blue, much more fitting to wear in private than in public, to be sure, and sighed. “If I knew I was getting _all_ the way in, I would have worn something more...appropriate.”

Her maid laughed and shook her head. “Just take your dress off, m’lady.”

“ _What?_ ” Sansa asked, wide-eyed. 

Shae giggled again. “No one will see you, m’lady. This is your only chance. M’lord can’t give the Kingsguard _every_ night off.”

It was absurd and absolutely mad, but Sansa could not resist. Gathering the skirt of her dress with her hands, Sansa lifted it over her head and gently bundled it in her arms, placing it beside the edge of the pool. She was still left in her small clothes, silk and the color of pearl, but she felt naked all the same.

“Go on, m’lady,” Shae encouraged her with a pretty smile.

Sansa allowed herself to take another step forward and then another, the stairs that led down into the pool as soft and white as marble. The water engulfing her skin felt so good she released short sighs of pleasure after every step, and once the water was at breast level, Sansa dunked her head underneath and felt like she was in heaven. 

Rising from the surface, Sansa combed her fingers through her hair to have it fall against her back, each strand deep red and straight from being drenched, and smiled at her maid. “Won’t you get in?” 

“No, m’lady. This is for _you,_ not me.”

Sansa pressed her back against the wall of the pool and rested her head along the stone edge, closing her eyes to savor the sounds of the water softly sloshing about her maid’s feet, the soft breeze of the leaves blowing in the godswood just beside them, and her breaths that had become deep and even. It was a tranquility Sansa had not felt since she lived in Winterfell, and the minutes passed like seconds. _This would be a romantic place,_ she thought. _Especially if I were here with_ **_him_** _. The only man of Joffrey’s Kingsguard that doesn’t hit me, and also the only one who has never made advances on me. A woman grown I may be, but he sees me as no more than a child. If he were here…_

“M’lady,” Shae interrupted her unladylike thoughts, “I forgot to bring your robe when we came.” When Sansa lifted up her head and looked at her maid, she had never seen her so remorseful.

“It’s all right, Shae,” said Sansa. “I’m perfectly content waiting here a bit longer if you’d like to go get it.”

Her maid stood from the edge quickly and slipped her sandals back on. “I’ll be back shortly, m’lady.”

Once she was alone, Sansa lowered herself into the pool to rewet her hair, feeling the warm embrace of the water one last time before she would need to depart. When she could not hold her breath any longer, Sansa stood back up. The deep breath she meant to take became a sharp gasp when she spotted a dark figure sprawled out against one of the marble benches beside the pool. The figure must have heard her and the splashing of the water, for it quickly sat up, standing onto its feet clumsily and stepping into the moonlight that reflected off the pool to reveal himself. 

The water flowed all about her as her breaths went from even to erratic, her breast heaving up and down from the realization of who was there, the same man she had provocative thoughts about only a moment ago. 

The Hound laughed hoarsely when he saw her, so hard he nearly fell into the pool. “Here I go again,” he said under his breath. “That bloody wine.”

 _He’s drunk,_ she realized. _He_ **_is_ ** _off duty...but why would he be_ **_here_** _?_

“Hallucinating the little bird,” the Hound muttered, shaking his head. Sansa was already at a loss for words, but when he sat at the edge of the pool just as Shae did, carelessly dunking his boots into the shallow water, she couldn’t even fathom speaking. Sandor Clegane sat there and stared deeply at her, his eyes falling to where the tops of her breasts were visible on the surface of the water. “I usually don’t start seeing you until I have my cock in my hand.”

Sansa’s mouth gaped open at that. She wasn’t sure whether she was more shocked at the confession or at the realization that the Hound thought she wasn’t real.

“I like this better,” he slurred. “You in the water...even better than seeing you bent over on my bed.”

The second confession made her face and chest hot from blushing. _This is not right. I must tell him he is not hallucinating. He would never be saying these things to me. But how I’d love to hear more…_

“I’m here,” she found the courage to say. “You’re not...hallucinating.”

He chuckled again, but this time he sounded irked. “You love saying that every bloody time, don’t you, girl? You beg me to grab your teats, beg to feel my cock inside your cunt, and the second I try, the little bird disappears.”

“Oh, gods,” Sansa whispered to herself. _He truly thinks I am not here._ The more he revealed, the more she found herself becoming aroused, curious, desperate to know more. A confidence grew within her, knowing that whatever she would say to him tonight, he would merely think of it all as a hallucination, a dream. _I can say anything to him, anything at all._ “Do you...want me?” Sansa cringed after posing the question; not only was it a stupid one, she feared he might come to realize she _was_ real. 

“You already know the answer to that, little bird,” the Hound responded gruffly. He leaned back onto his hands and Sansa could see the bulge in his trousers. 

She felt guilty for staring, for playing this game with him, but she couldn’t stop. “I want to hear you say it.”

His voice was dark and gravelly when he said, “I want you. I’d fuck you over every inch of this bloody castle.”

That created a deep throbbing sensation between her legs. _Does he genuinely feel this way? Or could it only be the wine?_ The thought made her sad, but she wasn’t ready to leave-- not yet.

“Sandor,” she began but was cut off by a snarling laughter. 

“Gods,” he cursed. “I must be drunk as a dog to imagine you calling me that.”

“I’m really here,” she said again. “I’d like to...show myself to you.” The words were difficult to get out, but Sansa knew she would never have the confidence to say such a thing to him if he were sober. It would be irresponsible of her to kiss him in his current state, she knew. However, Sansa always fantasized about revealing herself to him, not like in court when she would be stripped and beat by Joffrey and the cruel men of the Kingsguard, but here, in what was perhaps the most romantic setting she had ever been in. 

“You won’t hear me complaining, fake little bird,” he mumbled. 

Sansa thought her heart might beat right out of her chest when she turned towards the shallow end of the pool and waded through the warm water, the ripples in the water glimmering as bright as the stars above. She stopped when the water came up to her knees, and even before she turned to face him, she could feel the Hound’s eyes surveying over every inch of her. Goose pimples had risen on her skin from the sudden temperature change, exiting the temperate water just as a faint breeze blew in. When she looked down, she saw that her silken smallclothes were saturated, clinging to her skin so tightly she might as well have worn nothing at all. Sansa’s hair was heavy down her back, the water dripping steadily into the pool, and her nipples were hard from the chill, or perhaps that had only been due to her arousal. Sansa had a feeling it was the latter. Inside her chest her heart was fluttering, but she turned to face him anyway, still too far away for him to touch. 

“Bloody hell,” he growled, sitting up taller. “You almost look real.”

“I am real,” said Sansa. She lifted one hand to the strap of the silk that covered her breasts but paused when she remembered Shae would be returning soon. Quickly, she looked over her shoulder in an effort to make certain no one was coming. When Sansa heard and saw nothing, she looked back at the Hound and saw that he had his right hand inside his trousers, stroking his manhood up and down. Rather than make her nervous, the sight urged her on. Her fingers teased one silk strap down her shoulder and then the other, and soon, Sansa was allowing it to fall from her breasts entirely, tossing it to rest by her dress that was bundled beside the edge of the pool. 

The Hound’s hand stilled on his cock when he leaned forward, his mouth wide open. “If you were here, I’d suck your pretty teats dry.”

Sansa didn’t just blush, she bit her bottom lip. “I am here,” she said again, breathless.

“You bloody tease,” he rasped. 

Her hands fell onto her hips, and before she could convince herself not to, before she would look like a scared little girl in front of Sandor Clegane, she teased the drenched silken smallclothes down her legs, picking it up from the water once it fell to her ankles and tossing it aside. Sansa could not bring herself to look up at him, not when she heard a growl so guttural escape him that she thought he would attack her like a true hound might do to a feeble wolf pup. As she looked down at her nude body, she observed that the auburn curls atop her sex were damp, the smallest of water droplets glistening in her maidenhair from the moonlight above. Sansa felt the water dripping from the length of her hair down her back, trickling over the curve of her ass and into the pool with drips so soft it only made the watergarden more romantic, more ethereal. Another animalistic growl escaped the Hound, but this time, Sansa looked at him.

The Hound’s right hand was still stroking his cock, but Sansa discovered that it was no longer underneath his trousers. Despite herself, her mouth gaped open once again, in awe of the size of him. _It’s big even in_ **_his_ ** _hand._ Sansa quickly looked over her shoulder to make sure no one was coming and was relieved when the only sounds she heard were the water flowing about her from her slight movements, the hypnotic dripping from her hair, and the sound of Sandor Clegane pleasuring himself to the sight of her.

Boldness became her. Sansa felt wanton when she turned around, revealing the bareness of her ass to the Hound. He didn’t growl, he moaned. 

“Gods, I’d eat you alive,” she heard him mutter behind her, his voice quivering as the ferocity of his stroking grew.

Sansa smiled to herself before looking over her shoulder at him. _How can I show him_ **_all_ ** _of me?_ When her eyes met the opposite edge of the pool, she walked slowly over to it and pressed her belly onto the edge, bending over just enough where the Hound would be able to see the folds of her sex between her thighs. Sansa couldn’t refrain from shutting her eyes tight in the process. Joffrey and his Kingsguard may have stripped her inside the throne room, but never had she been _this_ bare to any man. Never had she had a man look at her chaste sex, the part of her body that was only meant to be seen by her husband someday. _I’d sooner the Hound see me than Joffrey. I’d sooner the Hound see me than anyone._

“Come here,” he said severely.

Her breath seemed to leave her all at once. Much like how it did when she would be punched in the gut by one of her betrothed’s brutish knights. Sansa looked over her shoulder at him and asked in a single, shallow breath, “What?” 

“I need to touch you,” the Hound said in a groan, his hand moving up and down his length slowly, tantalizingly. “Bugger if you disappear.”

Sansa slid her belly off the edge and stood back into the pool, entirely unsure what she should do. _If he knows I am really here, how will he react knowing what he has said to me, what he is_ **_doing_ ** _right in front of me? Shae should have been here by now. I never knew it would get this far…_

Wading in the water, Sansa allowed herself to be carried by her novel feeling of erotic curosity, living in what seemed like a dream. When she stood in front of him, the water was shallow, just at her ankles, and he had to look up to meet her face from the edge. His eyes looked almost black with how enlarged his pupils were, and in the glow of the moonlight, his scars appeared almost as velvety as her bundled gown. Sansa wanted to touch him, too.

“Seven fucking hells,” the Hound said, almost painfully. “How the _fuck_ do you look so real?” Although he wanted her closer, he had yet to touch her, and the only hand that moved was the one quickening its pace around his cock.

His manhood was even bigger up close, and Sansa saw that the coarse hair surrounding his length was as dark as the hair on his head. The attractive detail would give Sansa something new to think about when she would lay in bed that night and touch herself to the thought of him.

“Did you want to touch me?” Sansa asked, shivering not from the breeze but from her nerves. 

Sandor Clegane’s eyes looked up and drank in the sight of her, gazing at her pink, hard nipples and down to her maidenhair that was now dry from the air. “You’ll leave,” he panted. 

“I won’t,” she promised, wondering what it would feel like if it were her hand on his length instead of his.

The Hound seemed to have had a change of heart just then and rather than risk her fading away, he refrained from touching her. When Sansa understood this, she ran her hands over her breasts, softly squeezing them to put on a sort of show for him. Despite having no experience or knowledge of such things, her instincts were speaking to her, and the dreamy watergarden guiding her.

“You’re killing me, girl,” he groaned with pleasure, hastening his pace.

Sansa let one hand travel down to her sex while the other played with her nipple, teasing one finger in between her folds, and kept her eyes on the Hound all the while. The grey eyes that looked black went from between her thighs to the hand that rubbed her nipple, and once they met her eager, blue eyes, his eyelids shut tightly. Before she could take another breath, Sandor Clegane was grunting harshly with his release, breathing violently and cursing all at once. There had never been a sight quite so beautiful as that, not even the view of the watergarden. 

Sansa looked at the hand that was wrapped around his pulsating cock and watched as it became wet with his white seed that spilled out. He wasn’t looking at her, for his head had fallen over after his climax. He was so still and quiet afterwards that for a moment, Sansa thought he may have fallen asleep until he drunkenly mumbled to himself, “I love that girl.”

 _Did he say_ **_love_ ** _?_

There had been no forethought when she reached out her hand to cup the scarred side of his face. The Hound’s reaction was delayed from the wine, but shortly after the contact he jolted, staring at her as if he thought she would have disappeared by now. But she didn’t-- she stayed. “Little bird,” he breathed, bewildered.

“M’lady!” Sansa heard the harsh whisper come from beside the entrance of the watergarden. “Gold cloaks.”

Sansa startled and swiftly stepped onto the edge of the pool, running to pick up her shoes, dress and smallclothes from the ground. Shae met her halfway and helped her dress into the crimson robe. Before departing, Sansa looked once more over her shoulder into the dreamlike watergarden, the moon and stars reflecting into the pool somehow brighter after that moment, and watched Sandor Clegane figure out it really was her.


	2. Chapter 2

Sansa’s thick hair was still damp when she returned to the watergarden the following morning. It was different now that it was light. Beautiful, but different-- not as ethereal, nor romantic. The ambience that had driven Sansa to strip and touch herself for the Hound as he touched himself was no longer there. And neither was her confidence. 

“Well, get in,” her betrothed said unkindly. “I don’t intend on hearing my mother twine on about you and this stupid pool any longer.”

As the date for their wedding grew closer, Cersei Lannister made attempts to improve the relationship between Sansa and her son. Sansa knew it was not for her sake, but rather an effort to mitigate her son’s ballooning, vile reputation. The effort was futile to say the least, and all it had done was inflame the disdain they held for one another. 

Cersei had no knowledge of Sansa visiting the watergarden the night prior. That had been the work of her younger brother, Tyrion, and her chambermaid, Shae. Nevertheless, Sansa found herself standing in the same spot she had tossed her silken small clothes hours ago, and behind her, the man who watched her do it.

Sansa stared at the blinding light from the morning sun as it reflected off the pool and sighed. _I was braver when the water reflected the moon and stars._ “Your Grace, I’m only in my robe.”

“I don’t care. You’ve been moaning and wailing about coming here enough for my mother to get involved, so take off your robe and get in.” Joffrey’s ugly, pouty lips were smirking when she looked over at him. _He only means to humiliate me, as always._

After last night’s erotic moment with the Hound, Sansa had gotten straight into bed, refusing to explain a thing to her inquisitive maid on the way the there, and lifted up her robe while the details of him were still fresh. Rubbing her fingers on the firm, pink nub between her folds, it took no time at all for her to achieve her own pleasure to the memory of Sandor Clegane, his size, his moans, the confession he made afterwards. _He loves me,_ she thought at the height of her peak. Sansa had fallen asleep immediately after that, and when she had been picked up softly from her bed at first light by the same man she had thought about, her robe was still parted with her hand resting on her sex.

Joffrey had not given her time to dress nor would he tell her where she was being carried off to, but the closer they came to the destination, the tighter Sandor Clegane’s grip became. Sansa had kept her head down the entire time she was being carried, the night before feeling like a naughty dream rather than a reality. The same hand that had been stroking his cock now rested her underneath her bare thigh, and although the touch was still gentle, there was a tenseness to it as the unspoken words between the two seemed to multiply each second she was in his arms. 

The sun had just risen on the eastern horizon when she was placed beside the pool. Her eyes immediately veered to the right, onto the edge of the shallow end where she had caressed her breasts and sex in front of the Hound. Sansa was not inconspicuous about the glance, and soon she felt his eyes boring into her and quickly looked away.

“Are all Starks so deaf? I said take off your robe!”

A faint breeze blew in and the ripples in the water glimmered, but Sansa found it annoying rather than beautiful. _It was beautiful last night, tranquil when I was alone, romantic when I was with_ **_him_ ** _._

Sansa knew what was coming. In her head, she counted to three before Joffrey said, “Dog, unburden my betrothed of her robe.”

 _This isn’t just uncomfortable for me, it is for him, too,_ Sansa realized. Before she would give the Hound no choice but to disrobe her, Sansa pulled the tie about her waist loose and flung it onto the ground defiantly. Normally, Joffrey would have ordered her to be beaten for that, but his ugly, green eyes were too busy gawking at her nude body for him to notice the anger on her face. She could feel another pair of eyes on her, grey eyes, eyes that had seen her bareness hours ago, but she could not find it within her to look at those. 

Before Joffrey could touch her or come up with some awful thing to say about her body, Sansa quickly stepped into the water and walked into the deep end, submerging herself underneath the water that felt scalding against her skin rather than snug as it had last night. _I’d rather drown myself than give Joffrey the satisfaction of seeing me like this. But the Hound would never let me drown. He_ **_loves_ ** _me..._

Sansa knew if she stayed underneath the water any longer the Hound would pull her out, with or without orders given by Joffrey, so she stood up and draped her long, wet hair over her breasts, giving her the smallest measure of protecting her modesty. She could feel the eyes behind her staring and heard Joffrey mutter something to the Hound. “My lady, turn around,” the king said in a taunting manner. 

Resentfully, Sansa turned and observed the overwhelming lust that exuded from the edge of the pool. In the green eyes, she found a cruel sort of lust, one that seemed to fantasize of hurting her. But in the grey eyes, the first time she had looked at them since last night, she found something else, something more than lust; Sansa could somehow feel him inside of her just by looking at him. 

“My betrothed looks like a mermaid, wouldn’t you agree, dog? Lady Sansa, perhaps you are part Manderly rather than Stark. You _do_ have the Tully coloring...I believe your whore mother may have let fat Lord Manderly put a bastard in her to get back at your father for...what is his name? Jon Snow?”

Just when Sansa was about to make a quip about bastards and whore mothers, Lord Varys entered the watergarden, giving her a quick look of sympathy once he spotted her. “Your Grace, the small council is ready to serve at your pleasure.”

Joffrey’s mocking grin fell and he groaned. “I forgot about that. Is my mother not there in my stead?” 

“She is, Your Grace. However, she has requested your presence.”

“First she asks me to take my stupid betrothed to the watergarden, and now she asks me to sit in on a tiresome small council meeting,” Joffrey grumbled. “Dog, take her back and then wait for me outside the small council chamber.” Before he turned on his heel to leave, Joffrey kicked Sansa’s robe into the water and snickered. 

As her despicable betrothed and Lord Varys were departing, Sansa bent her knees until only her eyes and nose were visible above the surface of the water. _Alone in the watergarden together again, and yet everything is different. The moon is now a sun, and my confidence is now cowardice._ The Hound shifted his attention from the entrance and slowly looked over at her. When their eyes met, Sansa lowered herself further until her head was underneath the water. _Oh, gods. I am only making this worse,_ she thought as she held her breath. _How was it that I was stripping my smallclothes for him hours ago but now I can hardly bear to look at him?_

Before she could curse herself any longer, Sansa felt a firm hand grab her arm and pull her above the surface. Once the water fell from her eyes, she saw the Hound reaching over the edge to fish her out of the pool, lifting her out with ease to lay atop the smooth, white stone. Sansa had been just as naked in front of him last night but that was during the night, that was when he was drunk, that was when the watergarden felt like a dream. _It’s all so different._

When the Hound stood up from the edge, he took her hand and brought her up to standing with him. Sansa looked down at the hand clasping hers and remembered how it had looked stroking his manhood, how it had become wet with his seed. In his other hand was her robe, dripping wet thanks to Joffrey’s childish behavior. Grabbing it as quickly as she could, Sansa wrapped the fabric ladened with water about her body and kept her face down, ready to depart. However, the Hound made no effort to move. _Had I never touched him last night, he would have believed it to be a hallucination, a dream, and I would have been innocent_ . _But I_ **_did_ ** _touch him. And now..._

“Enjoy yourself last night, little bird?” 

His voice, rasping and rough, seemed to spark a flame. Sansa lifted her eyes and saw the same yearning she observed in the paleness of the moonlight. With Joffrey gone, the watergarden nearly felt romantic again. “I know _you_ did,” she heard herself say, unbelieving of her bluntness. 

The Hound abruptly picked her up from the ground and tossed her over his shoulder, carrying her through the watergarden until they stood inside an alcove, hidden away from any who might pass through the entrance. Inside the small recess there was a single marble bench with brick walls covered in ivy. Once he set her down onto her feet, the sounds of water dripping from her robe, her hair, and his armor lingered until he took in a deep breath and spoke. 

“Why in the seven buggering hells were you in the pool last night?”

His tone may have frightened her once before, but now it only made her defensive, angry even. “Why were _you_ there?”

“I don’t bloody know-- I was in my cups.” 

“I knew that,” she said, almost coyly.

The laugh that escaped him sent a chill down her spine. “Aye, you knew I was. And the little bird took advantage of that, didn’t she?”

Sansa furrowed her brow. “Took advantage?”

“You heard me, girl. You were teasing me, toying with me.”

“I told you I was really there. If I wanted to take advantage of you, I would have…” Sansa trailed off, remembering how she wondered what it would have felt like had it been _her_ hand stroking him last night. 

“Would have what?” the Hound asked, his tone suddenly solemn.

It was darker inside the alcove, and it reminded her of the darkness in the night, the sensual air inside the watergarden, and how she had felt just before stripping for the Hound. “I would have...touched you,” she admitted. “I wanted to. But I didn’t.”

Sansa startled when he suddenly slammed his fists into the wall, causing broken pieces of ivy to fall onto the ground. “Gods!” 

“What’s wrong?” she asked, gasping.

“I should have...” the Hound started to say regretfully, becoming exasperated with the missed opportunity. “I knew you looked too bloody real.”

“I told you several times I was real.”

The reminder didn’t help quell his frustration. “You always say that shite when I see you.”

The longer they talked, the more vivid the memory of last night became. And the more bold _she_ became. “When you see me bent over on your bed?”

Sansa jumped again when his hands fell on top of her damp shoulders, pulling her in close enough for her breasts to press against his armor. “You find that amusing, do you?” he asked heatedly. 

She meant for it to sound alluring, but quickly learned he did not perceive it that way. _He thinks I am mocking him._ “I’m not laughing,” Sansa said quickly, noticing his eyes were as black inside the alcove as they had been when he sat on the edge of the pool.

The dark eyes surveyed her, realizing she was not taunting him, and his sudden anger abated only to be replaced with something more menacing. “Remind me of what else I told you.” His hands traveled down her arms slowly, the touch titillating, clouding her thoughts. 

_You said you loved me,_ she thought. But those words would never leave her mouth. As confidently as she could manage, Sansa said, “You said you wanted me.” 

“Go on,” he said gruffly, resting his hands on her hips. 

Much like last night, she shivered, not due to the soggy robe she wore, nor from the water dripping from her hair, but from her nerves, his singular touch making her tremble. “When you saw my breasts, you said if I was there, you’d--” The Hound tugged on the damp belt around her waist until it fell to her sides, the robe opening up in the middle to reveal her auburn maidenhair below. Sansa could feel her heartbeat in her throat. “What are you doing?” she breathed.

“Doing what I said I’d do,” he answered, pulling her robe open to unveil her breasts that rose and fell with each anxious breath. When his mouth opened again she thought he would speak, but instead he lowered it onto one of her nipples, licking it before taking it into his mouth. The warmth of his tongue was far more pleasant than the water last night, and the moan that escaped her far louder, accompanied by a whimper. 

_It is not night, and although it feels like it, we are not in a dream,_ she thought. _Someone might hear...someone might see._ The Hound sucked harder after hearing her cry of pleasure, taking in more of her breast into his mouth. Stopping him was the last thing she wanted, but nevertheless, she said in a heavy breath, “Sandor, someone will catch us.”

“And then they’ll catch the edge of my steel,” he mumbled darkly against her skin. 

Sansa could feel the same wetness between her legs that had developed when she touched herself last night, and when she moaned the second time, she had to muffle the cry with her palm else the entire Red Keep was like to hear her. The Hound pulled away from her then, and her nipple felt raw, painfully cold without his mouth.

“Go on.”

Sansa’s eyes had closed from the earlier sensation, her body near paralyzed, her mind muddled. “What?” Her eyes opened when she felt the absence of her sodden robe, listening as it dropped almost heavily onto the ground. 

Sandor Clegane took a step back, drinking in the sight of her more fervently than he did underneath the moon and stars. “What else did I say to you?”

 _Now he’s the one playing a game,_ she thought. _He knows what he said, he only wants to hear me say it. But will he remember saying he loved me? Did he even say it at all?_

She knew what it was that she had done next, what he had said to her afterwards, and felt herself blush all over. _I turned around and he said he’d eat me alive._ Sansa’s eyes widened once she saw the Hound take a step towards her. “I don’t remember,” she lied. 

“I do,” he spoke ominously. Before Sansa could inhale to respond, he took her wrist in his hand, spun her around, and bent her over the bench, her hands pressing against the cool marble surface inside the shadowed alcove. The Hound’s growls were more sinister when sober, caressing her ass with his hands and forcing more moans to escape her. Sansa had been so enraptured by his touch that she didn’t realize he had knelt down, not until his mouth met her folds from behind.

The sound that escaped her was some queer combination of moaning, crying, whimpering, and gasping. Sansa jolted at the touch and tried to crawl away; it felt unlike anything else, the sensation of his scars brushing against her ass as his tongue eagerly lapped up and down her sex, tasting the wetness inside her entrance. The Hound’s hands held her thighs firmly, prohibiting her from moving away from him. Sansa heard him moan as he ate her and thought she might peak from the vibrations it produced against her folds. Just when she thought what he was doing to her had to be the most perverse and raunchy form of affection, his tongue traveled upwards.

Her breath caught in her throat, her arms buckled underneath her, and her face fell against the cool marble. It was more sensitive, more tender, more vulnerable than the previous sensation; Sansa truly felt like she was being eaten alive. And nothing had ever felt better.

His scars brushed against one side of her ass as he shifted over, biting the plump skin so hard she was certain it would bruise. _Shae will notice that,_ she thought. But she didn’t care, not when Sandor Clegane was doing to her all the things he had said the night before. He bit her once more before standing, slapping her ass in the same spot afterwards, and pressed the armor covering his groin against her sex. 

“What else, girl?”

Her mind was still preoccupied with the sensation of his tongue in her most private regions that Sansa couldn’t seem to remember anything from last night anymore. “I don’t know,” she said feebly.

“What about when I said I’d fuck you all over this bloody castle?” he growled.

“Oh,” Sansa moaned into the bench, instinctively arching her back when she heard him begin to remove his armor. 

Just before the Hound could follow through, the sound of two people muttering to one another grew audible coming from outside the alcove near the entrance of the watergarden. He grabbed her arm quickly to pull her up, picking up her moist crimson robe from the ground and helping her into it quicker than she could comprehend. He tied it for her, snug around her waist but still gentle, and took her chin into his hand afterwards. Sandor Clegane’s eyes had never been darker. “We’re coming back here tonight, little bird,” he whispered. Sansa could smell the sweet scent of her sex on his breath when he spoke. “I’m not done with you yet, and you still have one more thing to remember.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Get in, little bird.”

Sansa stood inside the watergarden for the third time, watching the water inside the pool reflect the moon and stars once again, ethereal, romantic. All of the beauty from the night before was there, but so, too, was her anxiousness from that morning. _I was supposed to be braver now,_ she thought. But as she felt the Hound standing behind her, draping her hair over one shoulder to kiss her neck, Sansa wondered if she could please him how she did last night-- _more_ than last night.

Sandor Clegane had come to her bedchamber late that night, far later than she anticipated. Once dusk fell, Sansa had paced her room, waiting every minute for the Hound to come get her like he promised he would. _He’ll have me in the watergarden,_ she thought. _I’ll let him take my maidenhead underneath the moon and stars. And after that…_ Sansa knew the last thing he told her to remember-- she had never forgotten it. _He loves me._ The thought never failed to make her smile.

When Shae had come to her that evening, she raised her eyebrow once she observed that Sansa was already dressed in her nightgown, quite obviously without smallclothes on underneath. Upon her maid discovering the thick, sable cloak Sansa had draped over the chair beside her vanity, she became more than suspicious. Shae inquired more times than was appropriate for a maid to question a highborn lady, but Sansa felt a bond with her, a friendship, one which allowed her to comfortably confide in her.

Shae had confessed to seeing her and the Hound inside the watergarden the night prior but did not interfere when she saw that it appeared consensual. Her maid even kept a watchful eye out for oncoming castle staff or guards, to which she had successfully notified Sansa just in time to depart before a pair of gold cloaks would have found her nude in front of her betrothed's sworn shield. However, when Sansa explained to her what happened between her and Sandor Clegane inside the watergarden that morning, including his plan to sneak her out of her room that night, her maid reached underneath her dress and pulled out the most dainty, feminine dagger Sansa had ever seen.

“Why do you have that?” Sansa had asked incredulously, to which Shae responded, “M’lady will take this with her tonight, or she will not go.”

It had been, yet again, incredibly inappropriate for her to speak such a way to Sansa, but Shae was quite adamant about her taking it, warning her how a man as fierce and large as him could take more than she wanted to give. In order to appease her maid, and ensure she would not sabotage the Hound coming to get her later that evening, Sansa slipped the dagger into the pocket lined inside of her cloak. _I’ll never have to use it. There’s nothing Sandor could want that I wouldn’t willingly give-- not a single thing._

The hours had passed, and Sansa had paced, all without a single sign of the Hound coming to her bedchamber. _Did Joffrey assign him to shield him tonight? Could it be too risky? Or...what if he changed his mind?_ Sansa refused to believe it. Not after what he had done to her the morning. The mere memory of it made her wet, desperate to feel the sensation again.

While she had not given up hope, not entirely, Sansa left the door to her bedchamber unlatched once it was past midnight and laid atop her bed, disappointed. _I was supposed to feel him tonight,_ she thought. _I was supposed to hear him tell me he loves me._ She had slept for some time before she awoke to a hand covering her mouth, muffling the startled gasp that escaped her. “Time to finish what we started, little bird,” the Hound had muttered beside her ear. It was all it took to make her wet. Sansa took his hand to stand from the bed, tearing the cloak off her chair to wrap about her and dropping the hood so it hid her hair and face. Somehow, the two departed the main keep and made it to the watergarden without being seen. Sansa wondered what he may have done for that to be the case, but once she saw the blood on his tunic, she thought it might be better _not_ to know.

And beside the pool underneath the jet sky they stood once more. Sansa felt the scars brush against her neck, followed by the Hound’s mouth as he kissed her from her ear down to her shoulder. “Shouldn’t we go back inside the alcove?” she asked, her voice weak from the erotic touch.

The Hound didn’t respond with words. Instead, he brushed his hand against her breasts, groping them for a moment before tugging her cloak loose. Once it fell onto the stone, a sharp sound rang in the air. Intoxicated by his touch, Sansa could not seem to remember what was inside her pocket, until she did and froze. The Hound reached down and lifted the cloak to unveil the fallen dagger, the steel glimmering almost as brightly as the water in the moonlight. He grabbed the blade and spun it between two fingers so the hilt fell into his palm and casually said, “The little bird carries a weapon.” The throaty chuckle that followed made her blood run cold, and colder still once she felt the steel kiss her throat. “When were you planning on using this, girl? Before I fucked you or after?”

He pressed the edge closer to her skin, the sensation as raw and provocative as when his mouth had eaten her earlier that day. “I--”

“Hoped to shove this into my neck so I wouldn’t reveal to anyone that I fucked you?” the Hound spoke gruffly. “You don’t want your precious king to learn you’re no longer a maiden, is that the way of it, little bird?”

The accusation left her incensed, awaking her limbs that had been petrified by the touch of steel. “My maid gave it to me, just in case,” she said, her throat pressing against the blade with every word she uttered. 

Sandor Clegane turned the dagger so the flat of the steel rested on her skin and leaned in beside her ear. “In case I try to take advantage of you?” he asked, his tone foreboding. 

Sansa’s eyes closed; she wondered if she had ever been more aroused. “Yes,” she answered, moaning.

The flat of the blade slid harmlessly past her throat only to return to the back of her neck, the point of it teasing the neckline of her nightgown. “Like how you took advantage of me last night?” 

“I didn’t--” Her rebuttal was cut short when the Hound held the fabric of her gown firmly and slid the dagger down the middle. The nightgown fell to her feet, leaving her bare before him inside the watergarden for the third time; it felt more natural to her than breathing. 

The sharp tip of the blade skimmed along her neck, down her back, and stopped just above her ass, the threatening sensation raising goose pimples on her skin and making her nipples so stiff they ached. “If what you did wasn’t taking advantage of me, then neither will it be when I do it to you.” The Hound poked the small of her back with the dagger to urge her forward. “Sit your pretty arse over there.”

Sansa watched as his other hand pointed to the edge of the pool just as the dagger poked her again, somehow making her moan and gasp at the same time. Her bare, ivory feet crossed the smooth stone ground that glowed more beautifully now underneath the moon than it had that morning. As she walked, she could hear the sound of cloth hitting the ground and looked over her shoulder to find that the Hound was bare from the waist up. She was so accustomed to him wearing armor, chainmail, leather jerkins, or thick tunics that seeing his skin left her awestruck. Each of his seemingly endless muscles were well-defined, his tough skin a canvas of faint scars obtained over the years of serving House Lannister. _There must be a hundred of them,_ she thought, growing painfully aroused. What held her attention above all else was the hair on his chest, so masculine, so dark, as dark as the hair on his head and at the base of his manhood as she had witnessed last night. Sansa was so engrossed in the sight that her foot slipped off the edge and into the shallow end of the pool. 

“Seven hells,” she cursed under her breath as she fell onto the edge, avoiding looking at Sandor Clegane who she could hear chuckling quietly under his breath. Sitting where she had fallen in an effort to play it off, Sansa realized it was the same spot he had sat in when he pleasured himself.

“Farther down, girl.”

Sansa looked back over at the Hound and discovered that he was as naked as his nameday, placing their clothes and his sword belt underneath a bench before entering the pool. She didn’t even realize her mouth had fallen open as she watched his erect manhood bob up and down with every step, not until she swallowed and felt the dryness that had developed on her tongue and throat. _Gods, he looks bigger, still,_ she thought, feeling as if her maidenhead was tearing just by looking at him. “You’re not scared someone might come?” Sansa asked, her eyes fixated between his legs as she scooted herself further down the edge of the pool.

He caught her stare and nearly smiled. “Not as scared as they’ll be.”

 _He’s truly fearless, always._ Sansa was thankful when the surface of the water reached his waist, allowing her to regain her composure and focus on the conversation at hand. “Joffrey will kill us both,” she said, more angry than scared.

“That little blonde twat will kill me, not you,” he corrected her, still fearless. “It’s the hour of the owl and almost the hour of the wolf; not a soul is like to come here, near the bloody godswood, this late. But I’ll tell you what, girl-- if anyone does come, I’ll let you poke me with your little weapon.” This time when he looked at her, he did smile.

Sandor Clegane disappeared underneath the surface for a moment before coming back up, his hair soaked and his body glistening in the pale light. While the water had come to the top of Sansa's breasts when she stood in the deepest end of the pool, it just barely surpassed the Hound’s midsection, his muscled, scarred body covered in glittering beads of warm water. When he combed his wet hair over onto the scarred side of his face with his fingers, the throbbing between her legs became almost unbearable, begging to be touched. _Is this how he felt watching me?_ she wondered. _It’s almost torture to stare at him and not do anything about it._ Sansa thought he would approach her but instead he leaned back against the opposite wall of the pool, resting his elbows atop the stone edge, and stared at her as if he were waiting for a mummer’s act to begin. 

“Go on,” he said provokingly. 

“What?” asked Sansa, mesmerized by the tantalizing way the water dripped from his hair and down his scars.

“Show me what you did after you got into your bed last night.”

Remembering how she had fallen asleep with her hand on her sex after touching herself, Sansa looked at him, bewildered. _When he carried me from my bed this morning, he would have seen. He knows._ When Sansa glanced over at the entrance of the watergarden, pitch-black and empty, the Hound made a quick whistle with his mouth. 

“It’s only us, little bird.”

No words had ever been more comforting. _It’s only us,_ she told herself. Sansa slowly brought up her feet from the water and spread her legs, resting her heels on the edge with her knees bent slightly so that the Hound would have a clear view of her sex. His mouth was closed but she could hear the beastly sounds resonating inside his broad chest. When she started to feel anxious again, she remembered last night, how perfect that moment had been when she was bold, dauntless even. _It’s only us,_ she thought again. As her confidence grew, Sansa placed her hand on her belly and steadily lowered it, hoping the anticipation might stimulate his already ravenous desire.

“Like this?” she asked innocently.

Sandor Clegane bit the unscarred side of his bottom lip and lifted his eyes from the hand resting atop her maidenhair to gaze at her face. “Show me.”

Sansa lowered her hand until the tips of two fingers rested on the swollen, pink pleasure spot, whimpering at how sensitive it was from her unprecedented arousal. Her eyes never left his face, not even when he lowered his gaze to watch her circle her fingers slowly in between her folds. The longer she stared at him, the more pleasurable her fingers felt, and the watergarden became a scene out of a dream again. The Hound was still for a moment, watching her so intently it was as if he was studying her, but once she moaned from her endeavor to pleasure herself, he pulled away from the wall and walked towards her. The water seemed to part for him, his muscled midsection cutting through the liquid sharper than the blade he had placed at her throat. At no point did her fingers still, and the closer he became, the quicker her pace grew. 

Once he stood in front of her, he took the hand that was pleasuring herself and placed it onto his lips, taking the two fingers into his mouth to meet with his tongue. The taste of her made him grunt harder than ever before. “Sweeter than any bloody wine,” he exhaled. The Hound lowered himself into the water until his face was at level with her sex, grabbing either side of her hips with his hands before closing the distance between his mouth and the spot she had been rubbing with her fingers. 

Sansa cried out louder than she should have, but neither of them cared. _It’s only us._ As his tongue eagerly moved up and down her sex, teasing her entrance and feeling the tightness within, Sansa lifted her hand and placed it onto his head, taking in a handful of his damp, dark hair when she felt her climax approaching. _No, not yet_ . _It can’t be over yet._ “Sandor, wait,” she moaned.

Either he did not hear her or he did not care; the Hound was relentless in his pursuit to taste her, eat her, devour her with a passion she didn't know existed until then. Sansa then knew her peak was inevitable and tossed her head back, the beauty of the moon and stars paling in comparison to what Sandor Clegane was doing to her. Her body tightened up and then loosened all at once, the wave of euphoria kindling every nerve in her body, sending her to squirm in his grasp. Sansa made an attempt to suppress her moaning, but when he sucked on her swollen nub as she peaked, there was no subduing the cries that followed. Before she could catch her breath after her release, the Hound pulled her waist off the edge and brought her into the warm water with him, pressing her back against the wall just before kissing her. 

The enduring, amorous kiss held all of the novelty of a first kiss without any of the clumsiness. Sansa had quickly grown to love the feel of his scars brushing against different parts of her body: her ass, her neck, her breasts, her face-- she couldn’t imagine ever being intimate with another man after knowing how tender the caress of Sandor Clegane’s scars were. The one kiss turned into several, each hungrier and more enthusiastic than the previous one. Sansa wondered what the moment might look like to someone should they chance to walk by the watergarden. In the pale light of the moon with the canopy of stars above them, the lovers were wet and passionate and youthful; not a soul could witness them and disprove their lust, their desire for one another. Sansa pulled him closer then, knowing it may be their only passionate moment together in a world designed to keep them apart. And in that moment, Sansa knew she loved him, too.

When he stood taller, she could feel his cock press against her, warmer than even the water surrounding them. Sansa lowered her hand into the water and grabbed his length, just like she longed to do the night prior. It didn't matter that she had no experience, the erotic ambience of the watergarden guided her once again, and the Hound moaned with every stroke of her hand. Sansa thought he meant to take her there when he grabbed her hips, but he only kissed her once more before picking her up to sit on the edge.

“What are you doing?” she asked, breathless, the sudden absence of his touch making her shiver more than the chill in the air.

He placed his hands onto the edge and pushed himself out of the water effortlessly, stepping onto the stone, nude and dripping. Sansa looked up at him and wondered if there had ever been a man so comely. The Hound leaned down to pick her up, tossing her over his shoulder just as he had done that morning and carried her further into the watergarden. Slapping her on the ass, he answered, “Finishing what we started, little bird.”

The alcove would have been jet black had the sky been overcast, but the moonlight allowed in enough light to see one another once inside. The sound of water dripping off of them was as tantalizing to her as his touch. Not a second had passed after he lowered her onto her feet before they were kissing, aggressively, almost desperately. Sansa couldn’t decide where to put her hands, she wanted to touch him everywhere, his face, his chest, his cock-- she let them travel all over him, moaning against his mouth all the while. Much like her, the Hound couldn’t decide what he wanted to grab; his hands traveled from her neck to her breasts, cupping the roundness of her ass in his palms before spanking her possessively. When it became too much, he turned her around and bent her over on the bench, resuming what they had started that morning. 

Sansa could feel how wet she was when he placed himself outside of her entrance, the tip of his cock sliding down her folds due to the slickness that exuded. The Hound cursed at that but she knew it was not out of anger. _He can’t believe how aroused I am, either._ The anxiousness she had felt about losing her maidenhead, and the pain that would come with it, seemed to dwindle inside the watergarden. _I’m stronger here, as long as I’m with him._ There was a hesitancy on his part, despite his aggressive words, and he eased himself slowly inside of her in an effort not to hurt her. However, the deeper he went, the more he moaned, and the sound of him drove her mad with lust, sparking an insatiable desire to feel all of him. 

Sansa smothered her cries of pain into the bench when she pressed herself back further, taking in more of him until there was none left. They each exhaled at the realization, knowing the worst of it was now behind them, and slowly he withdrew from her, developing a rhythm of taking her from behind. 

Physically, it was not as pleasant as when his mouth had been on her, but Sansa knew that the pain would fade, and the principle of what he was doing to her, listening to his guttural grunts and moans, the sensation of her breasts and ass bouncing with every thrust, was enough to bring her pleasure. When she started moaning, Sandor Clegane pulled himself out of her abruptly and picked her up, pressing her back against the ivy covered walls while wrapping her legs around his hips to take her standing up.

The ivy leaves fell onto the ground with every thrust, and Sansa could tell by the pained expression on his face that he would not last much longer. His mouth fell over her lips, and finally, he asked her, “What was that last thing, little bird? I know you heard it.”

 _You love me,_ she answered in her head. But instead of saying that, Sansa confessed, “I love you.” 

The Hound stilled with his cock deep inside of her, pulling his face away to stare at her as if he had woken from a strange dream. “What?” 

Sansa looked longingly into his grey eyes, eyes that were black inside the alcove, and observed a vulnerability in them she had never seen before. “I said, I love you.”

“Gods,” he exhaled sharply, pulling his length out of her tenderly before pressing it back inside, the new pace of his thrusts slower, yet somehow more intense than it had been a moment ago. “I love you,” Sandor Clegane admitted. “And someday I’ll take you from here. I swear it, girl,” he panted, the lovers moaning together inside the alcove. “I’ll get you away from the bloody Lannisters, away from this buggering city.”

“What if you can’t?” she whimpered, knowing the odds of escaping the city were slim to none, dreading what that meant. “I’ll have to marry--”

“Then I’ll bring you here every night and I’ll fuck you,” he growled, impassioned. “It’ll be my bastards you carry, not his.” Sandor Clegane quickened his pace but that wasn’t what led Sansa to the verge of peaking, it was the words he spoke, angry, burning, and honest. _He hates liars-- he’d never lie to me._ He removed one hand from her ass and placed it onto her sex, just above where he was thrusting inside of her, and pleasured her just as she had. “If I die fighting in this war or the next, I want you to come here and remember me, little bird.” 

Sansa cried from the pleasure, from the overwhelming love she felt for him, from the anger of knowing their love was forbidden, from the painful thought of him dying someday and leaving her. “I love you,” she whimpered again. It was all she ever wanted to say. The words ceased and their mouths reunited, the final touch that brought Sansa to her peak, her tender walls tightening around him to bring the Hound to his own end. The same seed she had watched spill into his hand was now spilling inside of her, warm, as warm as the pool. Where Sansa muffled her cries into his shoulder, the Hound released his own beside her ear, the sounds escaping him revealing his own conflicting feelings of pleasure, sadness and anger. 

Whether it would be the only time Sandor Clegane could take her or the first of many, Sansa savored the sounds reverberating inside the alcove. And as the final moment of their lovemaking rang throughout the dreamlike watergarden, Sansa thought, _It’s only us._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
>  **Connect with me on** [Tumblr!](https://thequeen--in--thenorth.tumblr.com/)


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